The Black Knight
by serennog
Summary: When her cousin arrives, a man who left her father's guardianship many years before, Felyse des Roches' every instinct warn her to be wary of him. Will Guy de Gisborne prove himself trustworthy? Or is he as dangerous as the rumours state? AU from the S3 finale onwards; eventual Guy/OC.
1. Arrival

**THE BLACK KNIGHT**

_by serennog_

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Summary: When her cousin arrives, a man who left her father's guardianship many years before, Felyse des Roches' every instinct warn her to be wary of him. Will Guy de Gisborne prove himself trustworthy? Or is he as dangerous as the rumours state? AU from the S3 finale onwards; eventual Guy/OC.

Disclaimer: Guy is the property of the BBC and Tiger Aspect. I'm just borrowing him for, yanno, _reasons_.

A/N: Guillaume or 'William' des Roches was a real historical figure. If you'd like to learn more about him, feel free to follow the link on my profile page.

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**Chapter One**

_**Arrival**_

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He came to us on a stormy night in June of 1196.

Marie, my maidservant, had barely begun untying the laces on my bodice when there came a pounding on the bedchamber door. She abandoned me with dark grumblings regarding the 'racket' to answer, and exchanged clipped whispers with the page who disturbed us. He seemed a little cowed, but determination apparently gave him the courage to stand his ground against Marie's chastisements. The boy left only after securing Marie's promise to pass his message along, which she did with an air of utmost displeasure.

"The steward summons you. It seems a relation of yours has arrived, and he requires you to identify the man."

"Does this relation have a name?" I asked, considering the possibilities.

"The lad made no mention."

My laces were deftly redone, and the two of us made our way to the great hall where Jocelyn, the steward, hovered over a man sitting hunched at one of the long tables. All I could see of the supposed relation was his broad-shouldered back, draped with a grey blanket, and a head of wet black hair. Despite this, I knew I had never seen him before in my life.

"My lady," said Jocelyn, finally noticing my approach.

"I hope the situation is as urgent as your page seemed to think, Jocelyn. I am tired and the thunder has given me a headache."

Jocelyn spluttered an apology, but my attention was diverted by the stranger who had risen to greet me. He stood a good head taller than my not-inconsiderable height, and was one of the most intimidating men I had ever laid eyes on. I was grateful for the guards stationed about the room, feigning disinterest at their posts.

His appearance was bedraggled, rainwater dripping from his too-long hair and wiry beard to darken the fabric of the blanket he held closed with a pale, almost elegant hand. There were deep shadows about his eyes, a sure sign of sleep deprivation, and the slow, deliberate manner in which he had moved to stand spoke of a stiffness brought on by too many hours in the saddle.

"This," said Jocelyn, interrupting my scrutiny, "is your cousin, Sir Guy de Gisborne." The steward made no effort to conceal the scepticism in his voice.

"Indeed?" I said, not daring to look away from my 'cousin'. I, as the mistress of the household, would not be subdued by his intense stare.

"Then you will know, Sir Guy," I continued, "that I was barely two years old when you returned to England. I cannot vouch for your identity."

"I brought something-" said Guy, speaking for the first time. His French was impeccable, his voice rich; cultured and authoritative. "-For just such an eventuality." He reached up for the back of his neck, unclasping a necklace which Jocelyn took at a gesture from the man and brought over to me. I spared Guy a curious glance before taking the piece of jewellery into my palm, fingering the pendant into a position that allowed it to catch the light from a nearby sconce.

It was the des Roches family crest, with the addition of a word engraved beneath it. '_Remembrer'_.

"How did you come by this?" I asked stiffly, meeting his gaze with a frown.

"It was my mother's."

I cast the pendant a doubtful glance. "I am afraid this is not sufficient evidence."

Anger flashed in Guy's eyes and he opened his mouth to speak, but I intercepted him. "You could have stolen it."

"I could have," allowed Guy, tone civil though the dangerous spark in his eyes remained. "But I did not. What other evidence does my lady require?"

I considered him silently for a long moment.

"A little family history," I said at length. "You and your sister were my father's wards for three years. Give me names, Sir Guy, and I may just believe that yours belongs to you."

He bowed his head in acquiescence. "My mother was Ghislaine, younger sister to your father, Sir Baudouin des Roches who I was sorry to hear has been dead these five years."

A little flare of vexation rose up in me. If he had cared for my father at all, he would have stayed in touch but, as far as I knew, the progeny of Aunt Ghislaine had severed all contact within a year of their leaving my father's guardianship. However, I kept my thoughts to myself and allowed Guy to continue.

"When my sister Isabella and I came here following the deaths of our parents, your brother and sisters were all present. Except for yourself, though you were already begot. Your mother was Lady Aaliz de Chatellerault, and the eldest of your sisters is named for her. Your brother, Guillaume, who I understand is away on a royal errand, is the second-born. Next to him in age is Jeanne, then Alenor, and lastly, yourself. _Felyse_."

I swallowed reflexively at the particular emphasis he placed on my name. His tone was honey, but I had the feeling it concealed a barb.

"And why are you here, Sir Guy?" I asked coolly.

"I wished to offer your brother my services. But, as he is not present…"

He took a step towards me. Jocelyn and several of the nearest guards reached for the hilts of their swords, but no sooner had their fingers touched the grips did Guy kneel before me, head bowed, fist clasped firmly over his heart.

"Lady Felyse. I am yours to command."

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I had long since dismissed Guy for the night, sending with him a pair of guards to stand vigil by the guest chamber's door. I could not have been easy otherwise. The man had left me deeply unsettled.

"What do you propose?" asked Jocelyn, pacing in front of the fireplace. We had removed to the solar shortly after Guy's parting to discuss the matter further, and in private.

I sighed, kneading my forehead. "I will write to Guillaume for advice. In the meantime, Sir Guy should remain here as our guest."

"But the man is not to be trusted!" protested Jocelyn, earning himself a scowl as Marie returned with the willow bark tea I had requested.

"I have sweetened it with honey," said my maidservant kindly, placing the earthenware stein in my hands. The mention of honey brought an image of the partial reason for my headache to mind; all darkness and lustre. I forced a smile and thanked her, leaving the tea on a side table to cool.

"I am aware of this," I quietly assured the irritable steward. "But at the same time, he is only one man. I do not see the harm in it."

"But the stories I have heard-"

"And stories are more often exaggerated than not."

Jocelyn exhaled loudly through his nose. "Even so, he will not sit quietly. He does not strike me as an idle man."

"Neither does he strike me as a simpleton," I said, perhaps a little too sharply. "He knows I am not in any position to decide his fate. He will _have_ to sit quietly until Guillaume's return. Or at the very least until I receive a reply to my letter. And speaking of…" I rose from the settle, retrieving my tea. "I will take my leave to write said letter. Goodnight, Jocelyn."

The steward bid me the same, sounding sullen.

Marie and I returned to my bedchamber, silent until she had shut the door behind us.

"I do not like this, mistress," said Marie, wringing her hands. "I do not like this at all."

I said nothing, dipping a taper in the fire to light the candle on my writing desk.

"I heard the guards talking when I went to prepare your tea," resumed my maidservant in an anxious hush. "The ones who first saw him. A black rider on a black steed is what they perceived, having materialised from the darkness like a demon. They say his arrival is a bad omen."

"He is just a man," I said, not entirely sure of whom I was trying to convince. Marie, for her part, looked dubious.

"Pray your brother returns soon."

Sitting at my desk with parchment and quill ready, I reached for my tea and took a cautious sip. Regardless of the sweetener, it left a bitter aftertaste.

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TBC.


	2. Fugitive

**Chapter Two**

_**Fugitive**_

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Marie coaxed me awake the following morning with a gentle hand on my shoulder and an apology in her expression.

"Mistress, the steward is asking for you."

I sat suddenly upright on noticing how high the sun was. "Why did you not wake me sooner? The letter-"

"It was sent with a messenger at dawn," my maidservant assured, adding at an attempted protest from me: "You slept so poorly, I did not wish to disturb you."

I recalled the hours I had spent tossing and turning, fretting over what my cousin's arrival might mean, or might lead to. Smiling weakly, I thanked Marie for her consideration.

"Did Jocelyn say what he wants?" I asked as Marie helped me into a dress.

The woman pressed her lips together, not looking at me but intent on adjusting the trim on the neckline of my bodice. "All I have heard is that he and your cousin await your presence in the solar."

I could sense from the stiffness of her words that there was more to it, and pressed her to elaborate. She submitted with a sigh of resignation.

"Some of the servants heard raised voices."

"A disagreement, then." I shook my head, disapproving. "Jocelyn, you fool." Had he not spoken of the 'stories' surrounding my cousin's reputation only the night before? If the rumours were true, Guy de Gisborne was not a man one should wilfully rile.

When finally I entered the solar with Marie close on my heels, the tension between the men was palpable. Both quickly stood – Jocelyn from the farthest window seat, Guy, dressed in garments borrowed from Guillaume's wardrobe, from a chair by the fireplace – and greeted me with gruff politeness. While Jocelyn's face showed evidence of his anger, his skin flushed to the roots of his golden hair, Guy's was the opposite. His beard gone, I could now make out my cousin's sharp, noble features. His expression was neutral, though his eyes – which I had initially taken for sable, but were in fact a blue that bordered on silver – glittered with suppressed fury, much as they had the previous night.

"You wished to see me?" I asked, turning my attention to the steward.

"Sir Guy insists on having his sword returned to him," said Jocelyn tersely, the crease between his brows becoming ever more prominent.

Guy inhaled deeply in an obvious effort to remain calm. "My lady, I mean no harm."

Jocelyn let out a bark of disbelieving laughter. "You expect us to believe that?"

"Jocelyn, _please_."

My warning caused him to turn away like a surly child. Satisfied he would not interrupt, I met my cousin's gaze, my own eyes narrowed in speculation.

"Why?" was all I said.

"The sword was a gift from my father, commissioned for my fourteenth name day."

I did not respond for a long moment, but considered how I might get the entire truth from him. Instinct told me there was more to his request than he would say without my prompting.

"Your sword is perfectly safe, Sir Guy," I said, leisurely crossing to the settle opposite his vacated chair. "You won't require it during your stay here. I assure you my brother's guard-"

"It is of _particular_ sentimental value," interposed Guy.

"And if I was to offer you another?"

His hesitation, though brief, was answer enough. I sat primly on the settle, eyes unyieldingly fixed on his.

"It would make little difference to you, would it, cousin? Whether it was _your_ blade in your hand, or something borrowed from the armoury."

He turned his back on me, and Marie walked a cautious, wide arch around him to come stand near the settle. Her closeness was a comfort.

Running an agitated hand through his hair, Guy moved to face me once more. His smile reminded me of a dog baring its teeth.

"Is it a crime?" he asked. "To wish to protect myself?"

"To _protect yourself_?" repeated Jocelyn, alarmed. His expression darkened as he took a menacing step forward. "Who from? Or perhaps it's as they say – the list is far too long."

"Jocelyn," I said sharply, continuing in a softer tone of voice. "I am sure you have other, more pressing matters to deal with."

He opened his mouth to argue, but I would not hear it.

"It was not a request."

Jocelyn snapped his jaw shut with an audible click, bowed his head to me, spared Guy one last scathing look, then left. I waited until his footfalls had faded before speaking.

"You came here to seek my brother's protection." It was not a question, but still my cousin's curt, affirmative nod sent a chill through me. I rose with courtly detachment and swept to a window. In the yard below I could see servants and guards going about their business, boots and hems saturated with mud – the only evidence of the previous night's storm.

"Who is it you are running from?" I asked. Despite my efforts to keep the quaver from my voice, it was not as steady as I'd have liked.

When he did not immediately answer I turned to regard him. He'd returned to his chair and held a fist to his lips, deliberating. At length, he met my gaze, his countenance steely.

"My sister," he said. "Isabella."

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TBC.


	3. History

**Chapter Three**

_**History**_

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I was not so naïve as to think that all families shared the same rapport as my own. Yet the thought of a woman wishing harm on her brother, though not unheard of, was shocking to me.

"Your sister," I repeated faintly. Guy showed no sign of hearing me.

"The Lord knows I have treated her ill," he said, more to himself. Noticing mine and Marie's incredulous looks he composed himself. "I suppose you wish to hear the story. But where to begin?..." His brow furrowed in thought for a moment and I took the opportunity to reclaim my seat on the settle. The tale would be a lengthy one, I was certain, and as difficult to hear as to impart.

"With father away more often than not," began Guy at length. "I took his instruction to protect my mother and sister very seriously. Mother was…" He hesitated, smiling minutely in a way that was both fond and wistful. He suddenly looked very different from the intimidating stranger I had first met only last night. More human. "Mother was a strong, wilful woman, and shrewd. She had little need of my protection. But Isabella… She shared a strong bond with father, becoming subdued during his absences. I think he meant I should care for her in particular. And I did. For many years, I did."

"But then you were orphaned," I supplied, guessing at a turning point when he did not immediately elaborate.

Guy looked at me, startled, as though having forgotten my presence. He then frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose that was the beginning of it. How much do you know of the circumstances of my parents' deaths?"

I searched my memory for second-hand accounts. "Very little. There was a fire?"

"There was." Guy seemed about to say more, but checked himself. I was beginning to grow a little impatient.

"Rest assured, Sir Guy, none of what you say will leave this room."

He paused before sighing. "It was the year before Isabella and I came here. Father had returned from the Holy Land a leper." Guy's expression darkened. "My family's situation was tenuous enough prior to that point, but afterwards… With Bailiff Longthorne sniffing around the estate, I was afraid. But more than that I was angry. Angry at father for leaving us."

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen. And do not say I was too young for that kind of burden," interrupted Guy with a warning glower. "Father was barely a year older when he fought at the Siege of Damascus."

I found it difficult to keep my expression neutral. The truth was I pitied my cousin, and not so much for the weight of responsibility bequeathed to him at such a young age. Rather it was the implication that he had tried to follow his father's example, and failed.

"You said you were angry," I pressed.

Guy settled back in his chair, regarding me with the barest hint of curiosity as though having expected me to argue his point. He said nothing of it, however, his attention suddenly taken up by a loose thread on the sleeve of his tunic. "Meanwhile, mother was set to marry a neighbouring lord." Guy had wound the thread around his forefinger as he spoke, and tugged hard at the last word. The offending cord came away and was dropped disdainfully to the floor, where its vibrant blue colour stood out against the rush-strewn floorboards. "I went to the leper colony and raged at father, calling him a coward, urging him to fight for his wife."

I had to remind myself of what he had said earlier; of how he'd been afraid and angry, but my true feelings, this time, must have shown on my face.

"You disapprove," said Guy evenly.

"I was not there," I responded carefully. "I'm certain you had your reasons."

He made a sound of derision. "What reasons I had were entirely selfish, I know now. But that is of little import. What I'd said had struck a chord with father. He came to the manor, but was seen." Guy reached up a pale hand to knead his forehead. Whether to ease a headache or the pain of the memory, I couldn't be sure. "The rest is a blur. At the end of it, there was nothing left, and we – Isabella and I – had no choice but to leave. Yet I swore that day to take back my father's lands and avenge my parents' deaths."

"Avenge-?"

My intended query was cut short by a knock on the door. I turned to watch Marie go to investigate the disturbance and when my gaze sought Guy out once more, I found him standing before the mantelpiece as though examining the carvings there. His spine was rigid, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, and I knew then I would hear no more of his story today. My questions would have to wait.

The sound of the door shutting drew my attention.

"It was the seamstress' assistant, my lady," said Marie. "You're needed for the final fitting. For the gowns," she added at my puzzled frown. "For the Midsummer festivities."

"Of course," I said, though I had completely forgotten.

It struck me then how inconvenient my cousin's timing was. I would be joining the second of my sisters, Jeanne, at her home in Craon for the festivities, leaving in only a handful of days' time. Guy would either have to join me or remain behind in Mayenne under Jocelyn's supervision. Neither option was particularly appealing.

Marie interrupted my thoughts, informing me she'd directed the seamstress' assistant to bring the gowns to my chambers. I rose from the settle, levelling Guy, who had partly turned from the mantel to watch me, with an apologetic smile that felt strained.

"You'll have to excuse me, cousin. Feel free to remain here, or Guillaume's library is down the hall, last door to the left."

I noticed the hesitation before he bade me good day, and remembered the issue that had led to my being in his company.

"Sir Guy, you did not let me finish earlier. I assure you, my brother's guard is quite capable. You will be safe here."

His answering smile held more than a little bitterness. On leaving the solar, I realised he was doubtful of the guards' competence, and couldn't help but wonder what Isabella de Gisborne was capable of.

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TBC


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